Five Poems by Fadrian Bartley

 

NO SKIN IS TOO THICK

Let us hold men in our hands to feel their rough
edges between our fingers
and massages their temper before we misunderstand,
let us have them submit to our attention
and call that moment the vibes,
so their inner voice will speak through puffing cigars
and the smell of intoxicated pores from thick skins,
let us speak to them in silence
since they already know the meaning of that word
but not in the shape and form of poetry,
let them know that giants cannot crush the rain with bare hands
or sweep away the river with their lashes,
let them know that it is ok to empty the soul in front
of the universe for all to see
and release the clogged tunnel in their veins,
let them know that petals bleed when no one is looking
but birds and butterflies will know.

 

 

CAT-O-NINE TAIL

 

History is a weeping woman with drenched dehydrated skin,
sun marred in watchful eyes with a woven whip
and shackled for days on an open field glazed with humidity,
with no slumber on the lashes of a task master
who then had her shabby skirt torn
in bitter hours of savagery behind cane fields,
dragged away into a wicked poem known as "Cat-o-nine tail",

with only her remains strong enough to prose us her raped
paragraphs that she kept hidden at her skirt hem,
to create passages of fine calligraphy upon
historical pages that we now read,
giving our trembled lips their awe
whenever it is resurrected by our eyes upon dusty pages.

 

 

WIND AND WHISPERS

 

Grandma chases her handkerchief
through the whispering corridor
and swear she left it somewhere in her dream,


obeying the night which carries her voice
through the aisle
demanding her tilted bones


to lead the way of bitter escape
with her night gown stained with uric acidity,
consciousness incarcerated into the brain


and now directed by the power of somnambulism,
watching her in case the moon become
a falling object from its height


now become tender to the touch of contact paranoia,
with stillness of echoes gleaming with hollow eyes
repeating actions back and forth


into pale expressions of twisted stir,
and whisper into one self of silence
poised with a hungry crave for balance,


with rows of erupted blood vessels
and veins rooted beneath the lashes,
carry sunken eyes into its hollow sac


with lifted layers of tired skin with vacant stares,
left the overrun brain
which took a turn to find solution but ended up at a dark lane.

 

RULES OF ATTRACTION

 

The foundation of knowledge is the intimate relation
between a book and its library,
when dust bury the pages on shelves
wars invent themselves

because wisdom is shunned by the tyrannies,
today we are because of sonnets
we know how to sing without gifted voice
because rhymes pave the way,

life is short and so we breathe the reality of haiku,
when we plant ballads into wet soil
it to grow in to trees that the young love to climb,
disaster is the only thing we’ve seen

because we unfollow the doctrine of free verse,
free to be who we must
self-expression to know what to say,
and wisdom to bring the tyrant downfall,

when our ears absorbed the essence of lyric
our consciousness grow fat
because we know how to sing than to speak,
when prose speaks in parables, we fear the metaphors

because they speak of what we might become,
from the strict rule of cinquain eyes see more as they should,
and humor will point its finger
on all things we never understood

we follow guidelines and stanzas
as law abiding residence,
and those who vote on the epics of literary sense
will point their fingers at the next elected president.

   

 

WIRED AND REMOTE

 

A new generation that has never been in an office
but carry their homes inside of it,
not through the door but through
conversation wired unplugged,
for better or for worse?
no complaint as the virtual world carries voice and speech
outside the foundation of traditional corporate places,
with devices and requests challenging their feedbacks,
and by their stripes comes platitudes that chaired
with an earpiece now echoes the disgruntled.
what is it that we've lost and what is it we gain?
as the services are not far fetch but customarily
struggle to remain the same,
new minds new world of changing spaces
which brings out the 9-5 into questioning,
how far will the present go with the future?
when it is already confine into one place
that struggles to reach the world.

Fadrian Bartley - is a poet from Kingston Jamaica, his poetry is available in various journals and online web magazines included, The Horror zine Magazine, Pif-Magazine, South Florida PoetryJournal, Mixedmag.com, Ramingoblog.com, Academyoftheheartandmind.com, Disabled Tales, Driech Magazine, IHRAF-international human rights art festival, and others.

Fadrian writing is based upon life, nature and people’s personalities, and also a horror fantasy writer, He is a customer relation specialist and spends his free time doing creative writing. His inspiration comes from within and continuously opening new pages to begin a new chapter.